


Beaten Tracks

by Sivvus



Series: Beyond the Duststorm [3]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, The Immortals - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: A/U, AU, Animals, Arguing, Betrayal, Chinese, Coercion, Comfort, Coming of Age, Danger, Father-Son Relationship, Fighting, Friendship, Horses, Immigrants, Immortals, Journey, Love, Lust, Mage, Magic, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Pioneers, Sex, Slaughter, Snakes, Trains, Trust, Western, Wild West, alternative universe - Western, american plains, american west, bandits, ponies, train
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3920749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivvus/pseuds/Sivvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of the 'Beyond the Duststorm' series: A Tortall/Immortals AU set in a gift-blessed American West, before the Civil War.</p><p>Resolving that sexual tension is only making the arguments worse. A violent train robbery is really quite simple compared to pretending you're not in love with someone, isn't it? </p><p>D/N, AU, fluff, Western Magic/Fantasy. Dark & Mature content warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rattled

Daine lay on her stomach behind the outcrop, breathing steadily as she sighted down the rifle. She still was not used to the weapon; it was the kind of long range rifle that her bounty hunters had never seemed to carry. She had taken pistols and revolvers from them, and one of them had carried the shotgun which soon became her favourite, but none of them had thought to snipe off their target from afar. 

That, though, was exactly what Daine was trying to do. She squinted down the barrel and shifted slightly – a bare few milimeters, but enough to stop the slow glare of the sun from touching the far end of the gun. If she could see it glinting then the bandits would be able to. 

They didn’t bother hiding their campfire, because there were so many of them that any threat would need to be an army to overpower them. They had holed themselves up in the canyon like an immovable glacier, and were drunk as lords on whiskey and fresh-killed meat. Daine could smell it roasting from where she lay, and her stomach groaned loudly. 

“Ten,” she whispered, drowning it out with the word when her eyes caught another glint, far less obvious than the sun lighting the end of a barrel. The black spark slowly drifted down into the canyon, and she followed it with curious eyes. “Nine...” 

The bandits were blocking their path. They wouldn’t have dared to block the stagecoach trail, nor the rails, but this side passage through the hills was perfect for them. By the looks of them they had been lying in wait for vulnerable carriages. By the shells of gutted traps and wagons which formed a makeshift village around the tens of men, they had been at it for some time. 

“Eight, seven...” Daine had suggested that they find their own way around. The hills were not so deadly that they wouldn’t be able to find a way through, even if it meant dismounting and leading the horses for a few days. Numair had refused to even listen to the idea. Those days of tiptoeing would be days where Varice would draw further ahead, and that thought made him impossible to argue with. 

“Six.” The girl slowly clicked the safety down and resighted, wondering which of the men would run first. 

“We’ll have to kill them.” She had said, and she had expected him to snap out of his dogged persistence at that. Instead, he had shrugged. 

“Then we will.” 

“ _All_ of them.”

“Yes.” 

“Do they mean to kill you?” She asked it pointedly. He looked archly at her, and coldly replied that they had obviously killed far more people than just himself already. When she folded her arms and glared at him, he shouldered his pack and pointed towards the opposite canyon wall. 

“You mirror me. I’ll send you a signal ten seconds before I start.” The man said shortly, “You’ll have to pick off any survivors before they think to shoot back.” 

“Survivors?” She gaped at his back even when he turned to leave. Daine stopped herself from yelling at his indifferent back, but she had no idea what on earth he thought he would do against that many armed men. Grumbling to herself, she quickly made her way up the opposite cliff wall and mirrored his progress, half impressed by the sure way with which he made his way through the forest. For a city man he was learning very well. 

“Five, four, three...” 

The black spark wove its way gently through the bandits, barely moving a hair as it brushed close enough to light up their grimy ears. One man blinked and rubbed his eyes, but they were all too drunk to think much of what must look like one more burst vein in their eye. 

“Two...” Daine leaned a little closer to the sight, and her hand tightened around the trigger. The spark made its sure way to the fire. 

“One...” 

Nothing. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing as the spark settled lazily into the flames. 

Nothing.

Then... 

It felt like nothing, but it couldn’t be. The roar of sound was so violent, so harsh, that her ears couldn’t believe it was a real sound. It had to be a nothing, because after it was the light, and that had to be a nothing too. If it wasn’t a nothing then she would be blinded and deaf, because such noises and sounds were not possible. She could not hear or see something that tore through her body like pain but flitted away like smoke. 

She could not hear at all, but perhaps she could still see. She could see, and that was good, because no matter what else he had done Numair had been right: there were survivors. 

They staggered away from the cyclone of unsettled dust and wood splinters and their bodies bucked and contorted as they coughed and writhed and bled into the dirt. It looked as if a dragon had torn great claws through the mud, ripping away chunks of grass and the roots of trees with savage carelessness. Where its claws had sunk deepest the ground was a deep, rich red. When the claws had drawn away there were survivors. 

But that was entirely the wrong word. Those men were dying. 

It was a kindness to kill them. Really, it had to be. Their skin hung from the ragged bones they had left. Their eyes were paste on their cheeks. Daine fired without hesitating, her eyes stinging and her ears bleeding from the same explosion that had torn those men to shreds. 

She fired her rifle empty with sure shot after sure shot, and when she refilled the chamber she could hear the sound of sobbing, and knew it was her own voice. She couldn’t hear the men crying out for their mothers, because they were all lying in the dirt now, but still she aimed again and fired again and emptied the rifle a second time, because she couldn’t bear to hear those sounds. She couldn’t take that chance. 

She refilled the gun a third time, and some soft dampness brushed against her hands. Her mind was dragged back from steel and gunpowder and she buried her fingers into Cloud’s soft mane, but the pony caught up the gun in her teeth and dragged it back before she let Daine hug her. 

“That w....was...was...!” Daine sobbed senselessly, and buried her face against Cloud’s neck. The pony nuzzled her shoulder. 

_I didn’t look. Every animal from here to Texas is probably screaming right now._ Cloud didn’t add that she was scared as well, but her hair was standing on end. Daine found her own sobs were quieting a little, and she raised her head. 

_Is Emmie alright?_ She asked tearfully. Cloud normally followed the name of the other horse with a harrumph, but today she shifted from foot to foot and Daine felt a second velvety nose pressing against her back. She drew the horse closer without a word and rested her forehead between Emmie’s eyes.   
_  
Why is my human angry?_ Emmie sounded lost, and Daine shook her head in the same bafflement.   
_  
Hasn’t he done that before, Em?_

 _Not since I’ve known him, and he stole me from that prospector a good few years back._ The horse found a little of her old sarcasm again and pawed at the ground. _He’s done some battle magic, but he’s not done that trick before. I would have noticed, and probably stolen his hairtie less often. That was terrifying._

Both Daine and Cloud nodded silently. 

They rejoined Numair as slowly as they dared, creeping down the side of the canyon and then making their way up to his post. The man was waiting, lying with his back against a tree and his eyes closed. Like that, he looked like the weak prospector Daine had pitied when he had confronted her in her home. When he opened his black eyes and looked sharply at the group they flinched back a pace, and he smiled. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? That was horrible!” Daine yelled. He struggled to his feet and caught his balance against the tree. 

“I found something they’d stolen from one of their victims.” He explained wearily, and held out a hand. The horses cringed back another pace, but Daine stepped forward to see what it was. The man’s hand shook with weariness, but the knuckles he had wrapped around the thing were nearly white with strain. The girl looked at what he was holding, and went so white that her stripes shone lividly against the pallid flesh. 

“You were right.” Daine said shortly, and she looked sick with fury. 

_What is it?_ Emmie asked, craning her neck to see the strange carved piece of wood. A tiny metal bell was strung onto one end, and the other end formed a perfect ring marred with tiny dents. 

“It’s a rattle, Em.” Daine’s voice was icy. “A teething ring for babies.”   
_  
Daine, isn’t that...? Don’t you think it looks exactly like the one that..?_ Cloud bit her words off quickly, but Emmie had already given her a curious look and Daine shot them both a glare so dark it could have blocked out the stars. 

“I wish I hadn’t put them out of their misery.” Daine spat towards the canyon. “They didn’t deserve the smallest bit of mercy.”


	2. Sleep Well

Daine insisted that they sleep in the canyon that night. Even the horses shied away at that place of fire and ash and bloodstained earth, but the sky was growing darker and there was no way that Numair would be able to stay on a horse, unless they lashed him on. When Cloud snidely suggested that they do just that, the girl shook her head.

"He'll be all jostled, and he won't get stronger any quicker if we drag him off."

"I'm not an invalid, Daine." The man grumbled, having heard her answer and struggled to his feet. She glanced at him and shrugged.

"I dunno what that word means, so I guess you're staying put."

"It means..."

"I didn't say I care what it means." Daine wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him struggle the few feet towards Cloud, who made as much fuss as Numair did about the man being told to hold onto her saddle. "God, you're both as bad as each other!"

"We don't want to stay in that abattoir."

"You don't know what she's saying. Shut up, Cloud."

Numair grinned at that, "Did she just agree with me?"

"She doesn't get a say. I do, and you'll listen to it. You look fair sick to me. I've nursed you through one fever and that's one too many. You're going to sleep if I have to hit you over the head to make you do it, and I'm guessin' it'll take you more than a night to sleep off that nonsense you just did, so we need a camp. That valley is the safest place for miles around. If anyone finds us there I can defend us all. If we were tangled up in these woods or exposed on those plains up top, I couldn't do that."

"And?"

Daine looked up. "And?"

"Even Miss Millay Murderer isn't the type to wade through the blood of her victims without a better reason than that."

The girl reddened and started walking, patting Cloud's shoulder and absently weaving her fingers through Emmie's leading rein. "I need to bury them."

"Them?" Numair sounded almost appalled. "The bandits?"

"Ugh, no!"

"Oh." He fell silent, and Daine didn't know if it was because he understood or if he was simply too exhausted to speak. Either way it was a shock to her how much his silence worried her. She stole a glance at him through lowered lashes. He was pale and his skin was waxy with sweat, and he swayed with every step. He didn't look as ill as he had when he was burning with fever, but he didn't look like it should be possible for him to walk.

"If you collapse, I can't carry you." She said quietly. "I don't even know if I should touch you."

"That shield's there until I die." Numair smiled at her, clearly touched by her worried tone, and hid a yawn. "I'm not dying, love. I'm just tired."

"We're nearly there." She caught his hand and held it tightly. "Please don't fall down now."

He squeezed her hand, smiled, and said nothing.

The valley had a smell – a strange, metallic scent that wasn't quite the coppery reek of blood. It wasn't even a bad smell, but it was uncanny enough to make both the horses balk and all the local birds fly as far away as they could.

Daine hushed the horses and, slightly mollified by their pleading, led them slightly off the trail along the path of a stream. The clear water dispelled some of the odour, and they didn't have to walk far before the eddying brook provided them with a neat headland of soft sandstone with good strong rocks around it. The girl looked around with a sharp eye. This place would do; any intruders would have to cross the river on one side or climb rocks on the other. She stopped the horses and helped Numair to lean against one of the rocks while she unpacked his bedroll and pushed a water canister into his unresisting hand.

"Make sure he drinks it." She asked Cloud in a short tone. The pony harrumphed in something close to laughter and planted her feet on either side of Numair's outstretched legs. Leaning slowly forward, she lowered her head until she was eye to eye with the human, and then stared at him unblinking.

Utterly unnerved, Numair raised the water and drank, his hand shaking with the effort. When he tried to lower it Cloud made a low grumbling noise deep in her throat, and he quickly swallowed another gulp.

"That's enough, dearest." Daine came back, and both Numair and Cloud looked around, wondering who she was talking to. She shrugged off their confusion and unrolled the man's sleeping mat, even giving him a bundled up fur for a pillow.

Typically, even when he was so exhausted he looked green, getting Numair to relax was horrendously difficult. He sat up when she tried to pull his blanket over him, and when the girl tried to push him down he grabbed at her sleeve with an urgent note in his voice.

"You have to promise to wake me up. We'll lose Varice if you let me sleep too long."

"I've asked the birds to memorise the trail for us. We can ride faster than a coach, take shortcuts..." Daine caught up his fingers and pressed them against his chest, holding his restless motion still. "Please, please go to sleep now."

He looked at her, and the exhausted panic that had blazed in his expression turned to such a look of trust that Daine's eyes stung with tears. Her frustration gone, she kissed his forehead and then held him closely, stroking his hair with slow, tender movements until his eyes fluttered shut, and he sighed, and was asleep.

Daine did not move for a long time, but when she did it was a sudden purpose which was utterly at odds from the gentle way she had just behaved. With furious steps she made her way between each of the caravans and wagons, searching each one for its grisly remains. Some were empty, as the bandits had used thme for their own purposes. Some had dark stains on the canvas which she could see even from the outside, and when she looked inside she had to bite her lips together to keep from retching.

It took her nearly an hour of squeamish searching before she found what she was looking for. Although this wagon was stained with gore, she crept inside it and, holding her breath, looked inside the tiny hanging crib which had been splayed against one capsized wall.

"Oh..." she whimpered, and then she fell to her knees because her legs felt too weak to hold her.

There was blood on the wall behind it, and a small hole burned into a beam, and it could have been a stray bullet or they could have done it on purpose, but that really made no difference now, did it?

Daine covered her eyes with one shaking hand and was glad that Numair was unconscious. She rocked on the floor and sobbed, but she didn't know if they were tears of misery or relief. The poor child was a twisted shell, preserved by the heat and the dust into something that barely looked human? What was it? It was horrible, and vile, and it had been a little girl, because her mother had braided a tiny pink ribbon into her black wisps of hair.

The girl came to her senses after a long time and wrapped the baby's blanket around the sad little body as if to keep it warm. Then she lifted the crib from the hook on the stained wall and carefully carried it out of the wagon. It took her nearly an hour to dig even a small hole in the baked earth but she kept going. She dug until the grave was so deep that not even the coyotes would be able to dig it up.

Then, tenderly, she held the cold little bundle close and rocked it for a moment. She reached into her pocket and brought out the rattle. Numair had seen one of the bandits fiddling with around their campfire and he had known the depths of their depraved crimes. She had seen it, and thought only of her own.

"I wouldn't put you to bed without this," she murmured to the bundle, and gently laid them both into the grave side by side. She drew the blanket up over the still face, and shed the last tears anyone would ever spare for this tiny life.

"Sleep well."


	3. I Love, Not Love

Numair woke up early. The sun rose above the top of the cliff and a warm glow of light shone across his eyes. He opened them blearily and for a short time could only see a strange glitter in front of him. His dreams had been so full of the reminders of his drained gift that he thought he was still sleeping, until he blinked a few times and the glitter turned into the greenish brown of a slow river.

He pushed his way to his feet and found his balance against the rock, enjoying the rough warmth of the stone against his hand as he took stock of his body. He felt tired and heavy, which he had expected, and aside from that there was nothing really wrong with him. A few slow hours and a good meal would see him right, and that was easily done. It was as much of a relief to him to be well as it was to know he could say he was better to Daine without lying. She had obviously been very worried about him the night before, and even if he had felt like death this morning Numair knew he would have lied to stop her from feeling like that. He didn't want tenderness born from pity.

No, that was a lie. That small shred of proof that she did feel something for him had made him feel happier than he had felt for weeks.

The girl herself was lying closer to the river in the soft dry sand. She looked exhausted and her gun was close to her outstretched fingertips, so Numair guessed she'd been keeping watch for any surviving bandits. He doubted she had simply been careless and fallen asleep; Cloud was standing awake at the next bend of the river, and by the defiant set of the pony's shoulders it looked like she had fought for the privilege. As soon as she saw that Numair was awake, the animal made a relieved sigh and lowered herself down to the grass.

He made his way carefully over to Daine and then sat beside her, tired even from those few steps. He picked up the gun and carefully put it beside his own hand. Now he was probably supposed to scan the trees as diligently as his companions had, but Numair knew that there was nobody nearby. His gift was renewed enough for that, at least. Instead, he studied the girl.

He always liked looking at her, but this morning there was also a certain amount of curiosity in his eyes. Daine had taken to wearing her boys' clothes again now that they were back on the trail, but there was a difference in her poise and in her expression which she had learned to adopt with the feminine dresses, and now it seemed to be a part of her. She didn't look like a boy anymore, so really she looked older, because her large eyes and soft mouth spoke of her gender rather than her youth.

That detail would not solve the mystery that was Daine, of course, but it pleased Numair to notice it. He gently touched the soft curve of her eyelashes as they brushed her cheek, and drew back before it woke her. If she was awake she wouldn't like him admiring her. No matter which clothes she wore, Daine was very vocal about things she didn't like.

Her hands were more interesting, if less admirable. They were calloused and burned and covered in scars and bruises from a lifetime of hard work, and of course they were banded in her stripes. The interweaving lines were darker than they normally were and Numair frowned. Daine had explained that the stripes became clearer when she was upset or angry, and took days to fade. He hadn't realised that she had been that upset. She had seemed so strong and calm when she marched them to this camp.

There was something even more peculiar about her hands. Daine's hands were covered in dirt - not the dry sandy dust around them, but the darker soil which you have to dig down to find. She must have been digging with her hands. One fingernail had been badly torn and had bled. There was grime under all of the others.

"You found the people you wanted to bury, huh?" Numair whispered. He took another look at her hands and then made his way to their pile of packs, finding their cooking kit. It took him too long to walk, and too long to fetch wood, but the water he fetched from the river boiled quickly enough, and cooled at the normal speed. The world was working just fine, even if Numair was struggling to keep up with it.

He filled a tin cup with the warm water and dipped a rag in it, then took one of Daine's limp hands and started slowly cleaning off the dirt. She sighed and rolled to that side, and her eyelashes fluttered.

"...u...mair?" She mumbled, still asleep. The man stopped for a moment and drew her into his lap, because as practical as he told himself he was being, the sleepy softness in her voice made him want to hold her closer. Daine's eyes opened slowly, unfocused. She looked up at him, both sleepy and wondering, and raised her clean hand to slowly trail fingers along his jaw. "Numair," she sighed, and then a worried line appeared between her eyes and she looked at him with concern. "You were sick. Sleeping. Am I dreaming you awake?"

He shook his head, but gently so she wouldn't need to move her hand away from his cheek. "I thought you might be frightened of me," he murmured, carefully cleaning blood off her nail, and she shook her head a little scornfully. Numair turned her hand over and gently cleaned her palm. "I wouldn't blame you if you were. I don't normally let people know I can do that."

She blinked, and there was such a lost note in her voice it sounded like a plea: "Who are you, Numair? I... I never found out."

"Do you want to?" He asked, and she nodded slowly. He leaned down and kissed her. "Then ask me, my love. I'll tell you my whole heart if you ask me for it."

Daine's hand fell back as if his skin burned her, and Numair knew that he was losing her again. Violence hadn't scared her one bit, but tenderness obviously petrified her. "You know I can't ask you. I can't give you what... what you want from me."

"That's not how it works, Daine." He smiled sadly and stopped her hand, kissing it instead of letting her draw it away. "I don't want to trade anything. I could say I love you a thousand times, and I won't have lost a thing. I'll still love you the same amount at the end of it."

"But I really can't say it back, even when I want to." she whispered. He smiled at the admission.

"I know, sweetling. You can be silent a thousand times, too. I won't love you any less for it."

"Don't be nice. It's horrible. I know it upsets you." Daine had hidden her blush with one hand, and so Numair couldn't see her expression when she said: "I know I've been hurting you."

He was silent for a long time, tenderly stroking a curl of her hair away from her ear. Then he asked her the question that they had both been dreading for weeks. "Then why do you do it?"

She shrugged, shook her head, and then made a frustrated sound and lowered her hand. She whispered her apology like a judge listing crimes to a magistrate, but no judge ever had the same raw pain in his voice. "I'm sorry for doing it. I hate doing it. I hate myself for doing it, and... and I'm not going to stop doing it. You promised me we wouldn't talk about this."

Again, that silence. Daine was starting to dread Numair's silences. They were far more painful than any argument they had ever had, because she knew that all the shouted words were being hurled around inside his mind, and not out loud where she could defend herself against them.

Before his mind could grow too vicious she caught his hand and ran her fingers along his knuckles, pulling him out of his thoughts. He blinked a few times and then looked down, frowning. Slowly, as if his mind were unfolding its obstinately folded arms, he relaxed and ran his knuckle along the outside of her cheek.

"I did promise." He admitted, and traced the outline of the girl's ear.

"Are you still tired?" She asked.

"Not so much. As if I'd slept badly, that's all. We should move on soon."

Daine pulled his hand closer, letting it drift against her waist and feeling his fingers tighten around her body. "Make love to me first," she pleaded, and raised her hand to the nape of his neck to feel the hairs standing on end. As always she found it easy to make his body respond; it was his mind which objected.

"Make love." He echoed her words ironically. "We don't 'make love', Daine, we never have."

"Please," Daine's voice held something completely new: a pleading note that made Numair hesitate. He looked down at her with doubtful eyes. She bit her lip at that look and tried, "You say you love me, but I don't know what that means, not a bit. I'd like to know."

"You wouldn't understand." The man hesitated again, and then said with a frankness that clearly caused him some pain: "You want me to make love to you, but you don't believe me or understand why I love you in the first place. Every time we sleep together I do it because I love you, but you... you think we screw each other just because it feels good, and it's never meant a thing to you."

"It has," she whispered, and then she paled because even that was more than she'd meant to admit. His crude words had stung, and she caught his wrist before he could notice her disquiet. "You acted like it didn't mean anything to you, either, all those times." She took a deep breath, "So I could act like it means something this time."

"Honesty between liars." He conceded, and his mouth twisted in something that wasn't really a smile. "Do you love me at all, Daine? No, don't answer that. I know you can't. Do you care for me at all? Last night I almost thought... I almost believed..."

"Of course I care about you!" She actually gaped at him. "Why would you even ask that? You're more important to me than anyone I've ever met since... since everything happened. Even when we're arguing I can't imagine how it would be without you."

"One sided?" He offered, and grinned when she rolled her eyes. Her words had prompted a sudden lightness in his face, as if all the seriousness and hurt had simply drifted away, and he kissed the end of her nose. "Oh, magelet, you drive me insane! But sometimes you are a wonderful little person."

She caught his gaze and he returned her warning look humorously, expecting some tart reply. Instead Daine abruptly pulled him closer and kissed him, not on the nose but properly, her heart racing at the pooling heat in her stomach which clutched at every nerve with caressing fingertips. He drew back a little to catch his breath and she held him close, running her fingers through his hair and looking straight into his dark eyes.

"Make love to me," she whispered, "I care about you so deeply it hurts. I can't promise to hold onto you forever; I can't give you that kind of love. But today I want to be so close to you that no-one could tell us apart. I love you that much, at least."

He made an odd sound and his eyes grew very intense. "Say that again," he breathed, and his fingers bit into her waist. She shifted at the near-pain of it, but it wasn't that which made her eyes fill with tears. What was it – relief? Guilt? The words had sounded right in her mind, but now she knew that he had heard them completely differently to how she had meant.

"I love you?" she whispered, and he was shaking when he pulled her into his embrace.

"Oh Daine," he murmured, "I almost believed you."

"When I said I did?" She said in such a small voice it sounded lost. He shook his head.

"No, love. When you said you _didn't."_


	4. Trails End

Daine was unusually quiet for the next few days. It was not her usual taciturn silence but an odd species of restless dreaminess. She would wake up in a daze of sleep and nightmares and never seem to fully awaken, or if she did her face would set in a frown and her eyes would dart about, searching the sky for whatever lingering thought was haunting her. Numair and the horses found themselves in an odd truce, as although they couldn’t speak to one another they knew they shared the same worried expression. 

Cloud would butt the girl with her nose until she stumbled and, cursing, behaved like a living being for a few hours. Numair couldn’t bring himself to do that, but he made sure that he woke up before she did in the mornings, and when she writhed free of the tendrils of her nightmare he would still her restless hands and comfort her until she dragged herself away. Some days she was embarrassed, and that made her surly enough without her strange mood, but other days she seemed utterly lost and helpless. On those days she clung to her friends, both desperate for their care and furiously defensive of them. 

“Daine,” Numair murmured to her one morning, trying to keep laughter in his voice rather than concern. “You’ll have to let go of my hand eventually, love. You tease me enough for my horseriding without me having to do it one-handed.” 

“Hm?” She blinked at him in bovine exhaustion, and then looked blearily at their hands. She let go without a single word, and wandered away. 

Numair tugged at his nose and looked up at Cloud. “What’s wrong with her?” He asked. The pony looked dumbly at him and then gave up the facade and gestured, raising one hoof back the way they had come. 

“The canyon?” The man understood, and scowled. “Something happened when I was asleep, didn’t it?” 

A snort; this was clearly an obvious answer, and after answering it the pony turned away. Numair patted the horse absently and went to collect Emmie, looking thoughtful. 

He wondered who it was that Daine had buried. He suspected that it had been a child, since she and the pony had obviously recognised the rattle straight away. Would it have been a child that Daine knew? He doubted it, with the amount of time she’d spent hiding away. Perhaps she was just soft hearted about children, but that didn’t seem right either. The thought of asking her scared him, but after a few days of her looking like a sleepwalker Numair realised that her strangeness was even worse. He waited until they lay down to sleep, which was the only time that they really spoke about anything besides trail craft, and asked her about the rattle. 

She stiffened, and then rolled over so that she could meet his curious eyes. “Does it matter?” She didn’t wait for a nod, but smiled wanly at seeing the impatient question already forming on his lips. Kissing him into silence, she said, “No, don’t answer that. I can see you’re dying to know.” 

She was quiet for a moment, thinking, and then said, “There was a travelling peddler who came between all the homesteads when I was a child. I remember him, because hardly anyone else used to come and see us. He used to stay the night by the fire, and he was great friends with my grandda. Grandda... he liked to make things out of wood. He did all the carpentry and building around the farm, and fair pretty it all was too, but what he really liked was sitting of an evening by the fire and whittling away. 

“So he would make all of these nice things, and they would just sit there. The peddlar used to take some away, and laugh at some of the others . That trick was to keep the price low, I reckon. My grandda was brilliant. I guess over the years he made hundreds of toys and dolls and puppets and rattles. I had one, and I think my ma had one he made when she was a baby, and the sellin’ of the others kept him in tobacco through the lean months. They mostly burned in the fire, I reckon, so it was a shock to see one here.” 

“You’ll have to show it to me again in the morning,” Numair sounded fascinated. “I didn’t look at it properly before.” 

“Oh, I can’t. I don’t have it any more.” Daine shifted a little uncomfortably and then added, “I buried it.” 

“Why?” 

“Didn’t belong to me.” She said absently, and then yawned. “If we don’t catch up with this train in the next few days I’ll be too sleepy to be angry at Ozorne. I’ll just ask him for a warm bed and a soft pillow far away from anyone askin’ doltish questions.” 

Perhaps her words were tempting the fates, but the next day they spotted the odd greyish plume of smoke on the horizon. Excited, they urged the horses towards it, knowing that they no longer needed to follow the stagecoach to know where they were heading. As the day got longer the plume turned into a column: a great, black inferno of belching smoke and fumes from the great furnaces of the railroad.   
The end of the tracks. 

The land was grey and forbidding and it rang with the hollow sounds of industry. They could hear shouting and singing from the men working there, and the harsh crackle of fire as the ironworkers made tools and straightened rails. They could hear the whinnies of unsettled horses and the shriek of cooling metal. And beneath it all there was the breath of the train; the harsh exhalation of the steam guage and the pounding heartbeat of the engine itself. It slowed as it reached the end of its track and they heard it sigh, resting, crushing the virgin rails beneath its careless weight. 

“Ozorne is in that train, isn’t he?” Daine asked, peering nervously at the stranded giant from the cusp of a cluster of rocks. “You’re absolutely sure?” 

Numair hadn’t been, but now he saw the hulking opulence of the train he was absolutely certain. As they watched, the stagecoach pulled up beside the end carriage and, with a mixture of exasperated nervousness and eagerness, the slender woman who had been travelling for weeks in its cramped quarters and dusty inns crossed into its mahogany clutches. 

“I’m sure.” He tore his eyes away, and saw that Daine was watching him with a speculative expression. She had that look when he spoke about Varice, he knew. He wondered what she was thinking about the other woman. 

“They’ll spend the night together,” she said aloud, “So we should wait, confront them both at sunrise. She’ll still be worn out from travelling, and he’ll be worn out from her.” 

“Daine!” Numair covered his laugh with his hand, almost embarrassed, and the girl grinned. 

“Socialising is tiring work, I hear. And honestly, that woman exhausts me.” 

“Tomorrow, then.” Numair nodded, and they started to climb back down the rocks. 

They camped beside the nearby river that night, trusting the rough rasp of the waterfall to disguise their noise and the trees to hide the light of their fire. For the first few hours they both regretted their choice, as scores of midges swarmed up from the damp grass and feasted on their skin. Cloud and Emmy stood nose-to-tail and whisked at the insects fretfully even while Daine tried to curry them, and she was just about to hurl down the comb in frustration when she felt a cool hand on her shoulder. There was the odd glitter of magic, and then it sank into both the ponies’ and her skin and the midges scurried away. 

“Thank you,” she turned, and Numair shushed her quickly. 

“Look!” He whispered, and turned back to point at the river. When Daine opened her mouth to ask what had made him look so happy he shook his head and pulled her gently towards him. 

“Look,” he repeated, and she followed the line of his arm but still couldn’t see anything until he smiled and said, “There’s only a few of them right now, but I think there’ll soon be more if we don’t chase them away.” 

Then Daine saw them – the strange glowing amber lights which were far more magical than any shield the man could cast, in their own way. They darted and weaved out of the reeds and even flitted up to the falls, swooping and soaring in the warm mist like tiny birds. 

“Fireflies,” Daine whispered, and smothered a delighted laugh with one hand. They were beautiful – absolutely breathtaking – and with every minute where she and Numair stood watching in happy silence there were more and more of them. The midges had been a pest to the humans, but they were a banquet to these creatures who soon were bold enough to fly closer, until they could see the glint of their opalescent eyes. 

“Not a bad omen,” Numair murmured, finally breaking the silence and taking his hand away from Daine’s shoulder. She shook her head, still captivated, and took hold of his hand. 

“Have you ever seen anything so pretty?” She breathed, and finally looked up at him. Her eyes shone. “I sure haven’t.” 

He looked thoughtful. “When I was younger my parents lived in Russia for a time, and one of the little duchesses had a birthday party. She was only seven or eight, but her family were royals who took any excuse to throw an extravagant party. Because I was the same age and had fairly un-offensive manners they invited me to it – a tea party and a dance, they said. I’ve never forgotten it!”   
“A tea party?” Daine looked unimpressed. “The fireflies are winning, Numair.” 

Numair looked back at the fireflies, and grinned. “Oh, but you should have seen it! There were gemstones and mirrors in the ceiling, and hundreds of candles lighting a vast room. There were as many shining lights as there are here, but every single one was enclosed in gold. The little duchess was so serious and grown up, and I was scared to even step on the floor because it shone so brightly. Then the lights dimmed, the sun set, and we started dancing. I don’t remember who I danced with, but I remember looking down. I looked down at that shining floor, with all the lights, and I felt like I was dancing on the stars.” 

“The stars,” she echoed, and smiled slowly. “I like that.” 

He looked back at the soaring lights for a moment, and then led her gently towards the river. “Dance with me, Daine.” 

The girl blinked at him, and for a moment she almost stopped walking. Then, shyly, she raised her hand and rested it on his shoulder, relaxing into his sure hold when his palm nestled on her hip. Perhaps they should have moved clumsily, without music to guide them and with the ponies watching with bemused eyes. But they didn’t; it felt peaceful and quite right to dance, to move in each other’s embrace in such a chaste and gentle way while the fireflies glided around them. 

After a long time the fireflies began to fade. The dancers slowed, and Daine rested her head against Numair’s shoulder and felt his arms tighten around her. She closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t make a wrong step with him leading her, and found that she was making sound – that she was humming something, and they were moving to the simple haunting melody as if it were the most delicate music. 

“My ma used to sing that,” Daine whispered when the song had ended, not opening her eyes. Numair’s hand stroked her back. 

“So did mine.” His voice was wondering, “I’d forgotten.” 

“Will you remember it now?” The girl’s fingers tightened in his hold for a moment, and when she looked up there was something unearthly in her expression. “Whatever happens tomorrow, Numair, I promise I’ll always remember that you showed me the stars.” 

He was silent for a long time, and then he rested his forehead against her own. Whatever else they had said over the past few weeks didn’t come close to what he might have said then, but the fireflies were almost gone, and in the darkness with her slight warmth in her arms the peaceful night only held one secret. Numair felt the softness of her curls against his skin, heard the soft sigh of her breath, and held the woman he loved as tightly as he dared.

Tomorrow, everything would change. In the darkness he longed for it; in her arms he loathed the very thought. What could he say? 

“Oh, Daine.” He kissed her cheek and found traces of tears. “I’m scared too.”


	5. Not Even Close

Most of the people working on the railroad were Chinese. Daine stopped Numair when she saw that, fighting back a sudden rush of guilt as she remembered the warm, friendly family she had befriended. Chewing her lip nervously, she drew the man behind a supply cart so that they wouldn't be seen.

"This diversion of yours," she started, "Are you sure it won't hurt anyone?"

"It's just meant to be frightening." He reassured her, and then frowned at her expression. "What's wrong?"

"It's not like in the canyon?"

"No." He laughed humourlessly. "They're innocents. Besides, that spell uses too much Gift and I want to be able to walk afterwards. There's no point confronting that bastard if I can't actually stand up straight."

"And what are you planning to do to him?" The girl persisted. Numair evaded the question with a scornful look.

"You're getting scared."

"No. I want to know why I should risk my neck for you."

"You're in this for yourself, Daine." He folded his arms, looking utterly unimpressed. "Don't you dare try to pin it all on me. You get revenge on your family's murderer and I get to confront the man who ruined my life; I don't think either of us cares about the ethics involved. When we reach Ozorne we'll just try not to get in each other's way."

"So you are going to kill him?" She pressed him. Numair scowled, but there was something awkward in the gesture. Daine wondered, for a split second, what had actually happened between the two men to make Numair feel such a deep loathing, yet shy away from actually articulating his revenge. Normally she would have let it go, but today she burst out in frustration: "For god's sake, Numair, what on earth did he do to you?"

"I already told you!"

"No, you told me what Varice did, and last time I checked you were still closer to screwing her than killing her! Ozorne must have done something worse to make you hate him!"

He reddened and refused to meet her eyes. Instead of answering, he twisted his hands together and made an odd motion, as if he were throwing a ball towards the distant workers. There was a high pitched whistling noise, like steam escaping from the train, and then a bright flash. The whistling turned into a high, terrified shriek that made everyone in the camp shout out in fear and clap their hands over their ears, looking around for the source of the terror.

"Oh, look at that." Numair said, and shrugged. "The distraction made a distraction. I guess we'll have to stop arguing now and actually do something useful."

Daine grimaced and unholstered her gun. "You are so damn childish, Numair."

"It's better than being nosey." He sighted down his own rifle and carefully fired a shot, piercing the water tower. It groaned and wavered for a moment as the water pressure shifted. Metal buckled, and then with a whine the tower rippled and began to collapse. People under it cried out and leapt out of the way, cursing as hot metal and warm brown water rained down on them.

"Nice shot." Daine took out the rear wheel in a wagon with her shotgun. "It's good to know you're capable of hitting a target. I was beginning to despair."

"You've only seen me fire a gun about three times."

"But your aim's just generally appalling." The girl dismantled another cart easily and started to reload.

"First time you've complained." He pressed his hand to the dust and the ground began to shake. Several horses lost their footing, and the people started shouting warnings to each other about the earthquake. Daine smiled sweetly at him.

"I didn't think it was polite to say, since you always try so hard to make the earth move."

He laughed and pulled a face at her. "You have an amusingly metaphorical way of insulting a man, dearest."

"You should hear my compliments." Daine smiled, sighting down her gun again. "I actually mean some of those!"

"I don't believe you." He tousled her hair, stopping her from aiming at another cart, and pointed at the train. "Look!"

Among all the cries and the frantic running of the workers, the train had squatted like a resting dragon in the dust. When the water tower fell a window had been opened, held by a gloved white hand, and when the ground shook the same window was slammed shut. Now, awakened by gunshots and screams, the dragon exhaled with a shriek of steam and a growling rumble of the furnace. It was clear that whatever happened to the fragile humans, the train was utterly indifferent. As they screamed and panicked, it slowly began to groan its way along the tracks. It accelerated slowly as the heavy engine started moving in reverse, straining against the warm metal rails to push the opulent carriages away from danger.

"Come on," Daine cried, and leapt to her feet.

Numair was barely a step behind as they sprinted from their hiding place and headed straight for the train, hurling themselves onto the metal frame which embraced the coal cart. This grimy addition was meant to follow the train, carrying enough fuel to let the passengers follow the rails as far as they pleased, but with the train running backwards the filthy load was going first. Flecks of coal and dust spattered onto the second carriage, and the metal frame warped and bent as it began to be buffeted by the increasing wind resistance. Daine and Numair crouched down, hiding behind the immense coal container and shielding their faces from the wind with outstretched hands.

"Did you see any guards?" Numair shouted over the roar of the train. Daine shook her head.

"Servants! White gloves!" She managed to yell back, and then coughed out a mouthful of dust. He nodded and passed her a handkerchief, helping her to tie it around her wind-whipped curls. When he was satisfied that the girl could breathe comfortably, he pulled a second square of white fabric from his pocket and tied it around his own head. Daine squinted at him, trying to see past the glare of sun on the rails.

"You look like a bandit." She said, and then giggled. "A really rich bandit who monograms his 'kercheif."

"I was aiming for sophisticated train robber." He muttered, peering around the edge of the grate. "I don't think they know we're here."

"Good, then we can wait." Daine settled herself more comfortably behind the coal bin, absently cradling her gun in her lap. "Give them a few miles so they're less on edge, then surprise them."

His eyes widened and he scratched the exposed bridge of his nose. "You're scarily good at this, love."

"It's more that you're bad at it. Your plan has been utterly stupid since the day we met. Look at that silly kidnapping!" Daine said, and although the words were playful she was clearly serious when she continued: "I figured you'd not planned it past reading a few adventure stories and daydreaming about gunslingers. Frankly, it seemed best to make some plans of my own. Just in case."

He sat down next to her, stretching out his long legs and staring at the vast expanse of plains ahead of them. "You don't sound like someone on a revenge rampage."

"I will." She said peaceably, and stretched out her own legs parallel to his. Looking sidelong at him, she wondered what expression he wore under that handkerchief. "Right now I'm more curious than anything else. This whole trip, I've been trying to work you out. In a few minutes I'll find out."

"I thought you wanted this as much as I do." He stared at her. "For what he did to your family…"

"My folks will stay dead, and they've been doing that without much fuss for years." Daine looked around at a noise, eyes narrowing until she knew they were safe. "I told you when we met that I meant to leave it well alone. Perhaps when I see Ozorne and his gold waistcoat I'll feel different, but right now I'm just sittin' on a fancy train getting dust in my eyes. How do you feel?"

He looked at his hands, and showed her the white knuckles where he'd been gripping the rifle. "I can't stop shaking."

"Then let's go." She patted his shoulder, and raised herself to her feet. Seeing him hesitate, she reached down and hauled him upright by the elbow, staggering against the motion of the train. He blanched for a moment, staring down at his white-knuckled hands and the gun they clutched, and then he looked up and saw the ornate embellishments on the edge of the first carriage. A look of pure, unrestrained fury eclipsed his face. Straightening his shoulders, he raised the gun.

"Yes." He said, and his voice held a raw hatred that made Daine shudder. "Let's go."

The first carriage was empty, but it wasn't the dark shadows which made Daine's blood run cold in her veins. As soon as they slipped through the unlocked door, it was as if Numair had become a completely different person. He moved across the polished floor with silent, serpentine steps, barely noticing the plush velvet and shining dark mahogany which surrounded them like an outright lie after the truth of the harsh desert outside. The room smelled like sandalwood and cigar smoke, and Daine couldn't help breathing in the rich scent in fascination. Where the perfume made her slow down, wanting to relish this opulent luxury, they hardened the man's eyes into chips of black obsidian.

He tried the door, finding it unlocked and slowly drawing it open. When the girl stepped towards him he held out an arm, barely bothering to look around but holding her away. When she stopped he lowered the limb slowly, and then carefully reached around the door. There was a glimmer of dark, fluid magic, and then he yanked his hand backwards with a grunt of effort.

The man he had dragged fell to the floor with a cry and slid on his back across the varnished wood. Daine smothered her gasp of shock and leapt backwards, stumbling over the rug. Eye to eye with the man who had been in the corridor, she raised herself on hands and knees and then froze.

He looked back, and he didn't know her. He looked back, and she knew him. She recognised his face, the high sharpness of his cheekbones and the sunken lilt of his eyes. She knew the bright bandana he wore about his throat, but somehow the colours were wrong. His eyes should be green, not blue, and his hair was too red. Besides, he should be dead. She had felt the snake's pleasure as they had sank fangs into this man's flesh. She cried out and pushed herself back.

"Right." Numair spat, seeing her distress and understanding it instantly. He hauled the man to his feet and drew his knife, pressing it to the man's throat. "Daine, come here."

"No," she shook her head, half frozen. Numair scowled at her, and made a strange gesture with his fingertips. The girl gasped as she was dragged to her feet by the same thick magic which had bound and gagged this guard. "Numair, stop it!"

"Then don't waste time." He pointed at the man with his knife blade, drawing blood. "Who is this?"

Daine stared at the man for a long moment, forcing her eyes not to blur with tears. It was a guess, but in time it took to say the few words she knew there was some truth in them. "He… a brother? I think he must be…"

"So his brother was in the Millay Gang. Fair bet that he is, too." Numair said coldly, and dropped the guard to the ground, where he reeled and tore at his muted mouth. "I wouldn't bother with that. I know you'll just raise the alarm."

The man glared up at him with sick loathing, but there was fear in his eyes, too. Daine bit her lip and took a step back. "What do we do with him?"

"Are there any more guards? How many?" Numair persisted after the man's first arrogant nod. The guard rolled his eyes and then froze when the mage sank his knife a little deeper into the man's throat. His voice grew poisonous. "Your brother attacked my friend, stranger. Don't give me another reason to want to kill you."

"Numair, you're scaring me." Daine whispered, and both of the men's heads snapped around to stare at her. Before Numair could react the guard threw himself forwards, but instead of attacking the girl he reached out his hands. Whether he did it to apologise or to beg was unclear, because no sooner did his fingers close around her wrists that he choked, and his mouth opened in a silent cry.

"Oh my god," Daine yelped, and dragged herself away. Of course it was too late, and barely a second passed before the man was bucking and writhing on the polished wooden floor, his steel-capped boots rapping at the floorboards until, with a final silent scream, he was still.

"Well that solves one problem." Numair commented, and shrugged. Daine gaped at him, fighting to catch her breath and find some sense in all this.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She demanded. "You're being horrible!"

"I thought you were curious about me." He muttered, and headed back for the door. "Did you really think you'd like everything you found out?"

"That man was…"

"He was in the Millay Gang. He might easily have been one of the ones sent to kill your mother. Who cares? We don't have time to ask nicely."

"So this is your plan?" Daine folded her arms, feeling ill. "To storm through this train and kill everyone in your path?"

Numair sheathed his blood-stained knife with a grim smile. "There's two of us against all of them. If we hesitate they'll kill us in an instant."

Daine bit her lip, because she knew that it was true. She had seen it in the man's eyes. And she looked at the banner with rising disgust, seeing the same design which had emblazoned the arrogant men who had shot her grandfather on his own porch, and tortured her mother before she died. She took a deep breath, and even the smell of cigar smoke was familiar, as the lingering ashes of her home swirled sickly in her memory.

She grit her teeth and nodded, utterly focused on a single fact. "You're right. No-one on this train deserves any mercy."

They slipped into the corridor. There wasn't another guard in it. There was one, however, in the small sleeping compartment which opened off the same carriage. Seeing the dark expression on Numair's face, the girl stopped him from entering the sleeping man's bunk with an outstretched arm. Shaking her head, she hesitantly reached up to the man's bunk and pressed her striped palm over the man's mouth. His first cries were smothered by her hand, his last cries were over quickly.

"It's less painful this way." She whispered, and slowly took her shaking hand away. Meeting Numair's eyes angrily, she said, "This is how we'll move through the train. You put them to sleep, I'll kill them. It's quicker than the noose, and that's what they deserve. We don't have to make them suffer if we can help it."

He caught her wrist, stopping her from moving away from the still-warm body of the gang member. "Fine," he murmured, his voice heated, "If that's how you want to take your revenge I'll not interfere, but if you dare stop me when we reach Ozorne I'll never forgive you."

"I don't want your forgiveness." She tried to yank her hand away. "But you do what you damn well please."

"I will." He retorted, and let her go.

Several carriages away from them, a man poured himself a glass of red wine and took a slow, lingering sip. The woman who sat opposite him glanced at the bottle but did not pour any wine for herself, nor did she comment on the amount her partner had already drunk. Where the man looked calm, she looked nervous, and her beautiful eyes darted towards the door as often as they returned to the man.

"Oh, for goodness' sake." The man drawled in a thick Southern accent. "Go away and leave me in peace. You know what to do, I'm sure. Or must I tell you again?" His hands tapped against the table, knuckles relaxed and fingers heavy with stones and golden bands. The woman shook her head, tried to smile, and stood up. When the movement of the carriage made her stumble the man made no effort to help her, but watched with a smile when she regained her balance and raised her head.

"Elegant." He murmured appreciatively, and raised the glass in a toast. The lady nodded her head in deference to his word, taking the slightly sardonic tone as a compliment rather than a snide comment. She left, quietly closing the door to the next carriage behind her.

The man raised the glass again and this time he did not sip, nor was he slow. He drained the crystal and quickly poured himself another, downing almost half of the fortified liquid before turning and staring fixedly out of the window. The desert rushed by, and he stared at it with a slight smile.

A gun clicked, and he felt a circle of cold, pitiless metal pressing against his forehead. His smile widened.

"You haven't even fired it." He sneered, and took another sip of wine. "Forget cold blood. Who comes to a gunfight with cold irons?"

"This isn't a gunfight." Another man said, and his voice was full of choked anger. Ozorne drained the last of his glass and looked around, heedless of the rasp of rough metal moving with him, still pressing heavily against the skin of his temple.

He saw the people who Varice had told him to expect: Numair, who he had of course met before, and a brown-haired girl who stood behind him like a silent shadow. Where Numair was white with anger, the girl looked dazedly around at the gilded dining car and the cut crystal which was held in place against the wall of the bar. Ozorne stopped himself from smiling at the girl, because he could only rightly focus on one person. Even though the girl interested him far more, she wasn't the person was holding a gun to his head.

"You're late, my dear." He said to Numair, and smiled. Then he gestured to the empty glass which Varice had left untouched on the table. "The wine's all gone. You won't raise the courage to pull that trigger without it."

The gun was lowered, but kept pointing directly at the man's face. "I'd rather kill you with my bare hands."

"You missed that chance, too." The man spread his hands charitably, ignoring the fury on the other man's face. "I take it you killed my criminals for me?"

"They won't be coming to help you." Numair spat. Ozorne laughed.

"That's a few less wagging tongues to tie me to the wanted posters, my dear. I should be thanking you! In fact, I do. Thank you, dear heart. They were a thorn in my side."

"Don't you dare call me that." Numair jabbed the gun back against Ozorne's temple, and his hand shook so much that this time the man's carefree expression faltered. For a blinding second he honestly didn't know whether Numair would pull the trigger or not.

"Varice!" He called, and if his voice shook it didn't matter. She knew what to do. Numair's eyes narrowed, and he looked up.

There was a strange noise. It wasn't that they didn't recognise the bright giggle of a playing child, it was just so uncanny to hear such a domestic sound in the train that both the intruders flinched.

While they were distracted the door crashed open and a child ran in. He couldn't have been more than five years old: all knees and elbows as he crashed towards them. Ozorne grinned widely and there was genuine affection in his expression when he stopped the whirlwind in its tracks and patted his shoulder.

"Apologies." He said with a hint of laughter. "The lad has no sense of… of propriety."

"Are you hiding behind a child, now?" Numair sounded disgusted. When Ozorne looked up he fixed his gaze on the girl.

She barely looked at the boy. Then her companion's voice tailed off. Numair paused and then said a lot more uncertainly, "What…?"

Then Daine looked down.

Then she went so white her skin looked almost blue.

"No…" she breathed, and swayed on the spot. Looking back up at Ozorne, her voice became a single pleading note. "No, please, please, not…"

Ozorne smiled thinly and placed a fatherly hand on the tiny child's shoulder. The boy looked up with a shy smile and clutched affectionately at the man's sleeve. The gaslight flared over the stripes which ran from the child's wrists to his shoulders and made the marks stark against his pale skin.

"Veralidaine Sarrasri," Ozorne said broadly, "I'd like you to meet your son."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Abstercadabra, since you asked for a quick update. ;-)

"You fainted." Numair said. "Ozorne generously let you use his guest carriage to rest. It's next to your son's carriage, by the way. You know, the son you bothered to tell me about who is now, for some reason, in the care of my worst enemy."

Daine groaned and pressed a hand to her forehead. "Shut up. For the love of god, Numair, I'm fair sure my day is turning out worse than yours."

"And our generous host has invited us to sup with him this fine evening!" Numair continued relentlessly, and dodged a viciously hurled cushion with a scowl. "Apparently your son - who I _absolutely_ knew about by the way - is very keen to meet you!"

"I don't want to see him." Daine snapped, and turned her face into the cushion. Her voice grew muffled. "Can't you understand that? I don't want to! It took everything I had for me to give him up. I won't… I can't… n…not again…"

"But you gave him to Ozorne!"

"No!" She didn't look up. "I left him in a ch…church for the nuns to find. I d…don't know how…"

"Why did you abandon him in the first place?" He asked, and against her tearful explanation his voice sounded a lot more accusing than he'd meant it to. When she turned to look at him her expression was incredulous.

"Are you serious? How could I raise a child? Never mind the fact that I'm a wanted criminal or that I live with wild animals. Never mind the fact that I was thirteen. What if I got frustrated because he wouldn't stop screaming and my stripes came back? How can you wash or feed a baby if you can't even touch it? How could you love it? What kind of life would he have had?" She took a shuddering breath and turned away again, and her voice grew very small. "Please go away. I don't want you here."

"We're still on the train." He said, and his voice was so careful it sounded icy. "I can't really go anywhere."

"Then shut up." She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands over them for good measure. "I have to think."

"What is there to think about?" He demanded. "That man killed your family! This doesn't change that! We have to…"

"If I shoved you off this train with my bare hands, do you think the fall would kill you first or the poison?" She interrupted him savagely and then uncovered her eyes to glare at him. "Put your damn revenge on hold for five minutes and try to think like a human being. Are you really this cruel? This stupid? This changes everything for me."

"You lost all right to care about that boy the moment you abandoned him. You can't pretend that you care now. You haven't spared a single thought for him for the last five years so why start now?"

"That's not true." Daine said so flatly that he stopped mid-tirade. "There hasn't been a single day when I haven't thought about him."

Numair stared at her, and all of the anger drained out of him at the expression in her eyes. She kept speaking, but he had no idea if she realised she was speaking aloud.

"He was so beautiful when he was born. So beautiful. I wanted to hate him, but he… he had such blue eyes, and he was so tiny. He came early, before I'd even planned what I really wanted to do, and he… he was so beautiful. I was so afraid; he was so tiny and weak and he wouldn't make a sound. I held him in my arms by the fire for days and days until one day he started crying and I knew he would live. I knew I loved him then. I loved him so much it hurt."

She looked up then, and her eyes were red with unshed tears. "Do you know why I can't let myself love you, Numair? You're such a child. Love isn't precious or beautiful or innocent like you think. Love tears at your heart and never lets you go. It never let me forget or forgive myself for what I did, no matter how much I tried to hide away. And you dragged me back into it and told me you love me, and I hate you for it. I hate what love did to me. Even though I know I did the right thing for my baby - the only thing I could do - I still hate myself for it because the love burns me up inside. "

The tears she was trying to hide fell then, but she didn't raise a hand to wipe them away. Her voice grew to a furious peak as she glared at the frozen man. "Don't you dare tell me I don't care about my son."

"Mama?" A high voice said uncertainly. Daine flinched and looked down. The small boy who had crept in unnoticed tugged at her sleeve. "Mama, why are you shouting?"

Her lips shaped a word for a moment, and then she swallowed rapidly. "I'm not your mama."

"Yes you are!" The boy giggled and pressed grubby fists against his mouth. "Silly mama! Dada said you would make jokes!"

Daine gaped at the child for a moment, and Numair honestly thought she might faint a second time as all the blood rushed from her face. Then she recovered somehow and choked out, "Go back to your da, then…"

"Kieran." The boy finished for her, rolling his eyes. "My name's Kieran, silly mummy!"

"Kieran." She echoed weakly, and rested her head in her hands. The boy darted from the room with a laugh, but before he crashed through the door he stopped and looked around. There was something in his poise which was far older than his six years.

"You are going to stay, aren't you?" He asked, and his eyes brimmed with hope and shyness. Daine stared at him, and he kicked his foot against the doorframe. "Dada always said you would come back and stay and be my proper mama. I've been wishing for you every night since forever, you know."

"Go to your father, boy." Numair said suddenly, pushing the door open. The child gave him a frightened look and scarpered, looking back longingly but not daring to stop again. The man snapped the small ornamental lock on the door to when he closed it, for all the good it could possibly do.

"Ozorne will have sent him." He said, and then sat beside Daine on the sofa. She was white as a sheet, still staring at the door. Numair drew her closer to lean against his shoulder. He stayed silent for long minutes, and when she finally broke down into wrenching sobs he held her tightly.

"I know that love isn't beautiful." He said eventually, and kissed her temple. Although the gesture was endlessly tender, his words sounded broken in their quiet roughness. "If it was, I would be able to forgive you for what I know you're going to do."

"He's giving me my family back," Daine whispered. "It's all I've ever wanted. I don't want to be alone anymore."

"You aren't alone." He sounded bitter, and she shook her head without looking up.

"One day you'd leave me or I'd harm you. You can leave me now and be safe from all this. Safe from me. You have no ties to me. I made sure of that."

"Yes. I suppose you did."

"I told you I would hurt you." Daine smiled sadly and traced the line of his chin as if she were memorising him. "Even with your shield in place my poison found a way through, didn't it?"

He didn't answer, and she sighed. Numair knew then that he had never understood her. Not with the raw clarity that he felt now when it was too late.

He was losing her forever. Suddenly so many of her odd ways made sense – the things which had confused or annoyed him over the past few months suddenly had explanations. He had believed that she was cold, selfish or even heartless, broken by the same man who had destroyed his own life. Now he saw the reason behind it, the way she'd tried to shelter him by pushing him away.

He saw the truth.

"You do love me, don't you? You never would have told me, but you do love me. As much as I love you."

She bit her lip. "Don't make me say it. It'll just make everything worse."

"But it's true." He persisted. She looked away, and when she looked back there was something broken in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "That you love me."


	7. Sins

"Go," Ozorne ordered Numair, "I won't send anyone after you."

The chairman smiled gently – an expression which would have been thought of as sympathetic by anyone other than Numair. The banished man looked at his captor with loathing and the man's smile widened, just a little. The only person who might be fooled by that smile was Daine, and she was too upset to do anything except sit on the sofa and stare blankly at her own scale-marked hands.

When Ozorne had made his demands she hadn't been able to speak, she had only nodded.

That was enough.

Varice had her arm around the girl now. Another false sympathetic gesture, although Numair took grim comfort in the sight of layers and layers of sleeves, shawls and gloves which Vee had wrapped around herself before getting anywhere near Daine. Varice's act, it seemed, would not outlast her fear or selfishness. Daine would be able to see that, at least. She would be able to use that.

He thought about what Ozorne had said, and slowly met the man's eyes.

"This isn't over. You know that. So of course you'll have me followed."

"Hm." Ozorne brushed imaginary lint from his cuffs. "The law will do that, my dear. They've been keeping an eye on you for years, and of course they'll continue to do so. The amusing thing is that I only had to bribe a few people, and I only had to pay them once."

"To follow me?"

"To keep you out of jail." Ozorne cracked a small smile. "You never had the wherewithal to outrun your bounty on your own. They… discourage interest, shall we say? Anyway, I see no reason to change the way things are."

Numair couldn't believe his ears. He had held a revolver so close to this man's head the metal had snagged in his hair, and yet he was being magnanimous. Seeing the dumbstruck expression on the other man's face, Ozorne laughed outright and stood up. Taking a few strides across the opulent carriage, he rested a kid-gloved hand on Daine's brown curls, and gently stroked her hair. She didn't seem to notice. Ozorne's mocking expression vanished leaving something else. Something gentle.

"You reunited my son with his mother. Of course I am grateful to you, Master Salmalin. Without your help I never would have found her."

Don't touch her. Numair thought, and felt his hands curling into fists, but he didn't say anything. Varice looked from Daine up to Ozorne and a frown appeared between her eyes. After a moment the tycoon met her eyes and drew his hand away.

"Go, Numair." He said. Then, more impatiently: "If I have to tell you again, my gratitude will end."

"Wait." Varice said suddenly. "Give the poor man some food and supplies first, dearest, if you're kicking him out in the middle of the desert. Otherwise you might as well just shoot him now and make it quicker. He doesn't even have a horse, for goodness' sake!"

"That's not my fault, is it?"

"Darling, you're being petty." She pouted. "it'll be no fun if he just drops dead of thirst, you know."

"True." Ozorne waved a careless hand at a servant, who ducked away towards the engine. "Fine, then we'll drop him at the next watering hole. If it's a salt-welled shit-hole that's just his precious problem. Will that satisfy you, Vee?"

"Your railway attracts a better class of shit-hole than most, dear." Vee said primly, and the stood up. Raising Daine's elbow, she made the girl stand beside her and frowned at the difference in their height. "Well, until we reach the city you'll be treading on my skirts, I guess." She muttered, and started leading the girl away.

"Wait," Daine seemed to wake up, and the word spilled out of her unbidden. She pulled away with sudden strength. "I… I agree to stay with you. That's fine, only… only let me say goodbye first."

Ozorne looked surly at the thought, but when he caught sight of the sympathetic expression on his mistress's face he relented. Turning to Numair, he smirked at the look of strained anger mixed with pleading on the man's face.

"Gods, Numair, don't look so angry. Did you think I'd refuse? Well, you try travelling with a train full of sulky womenfolk one day. That's a worse punishment than the thought of you having a tender moment, on my oath. Take the girl for an hour and do what you like with her, only leave her here the second the train stops or I'll empty your pistol into your own ear and watch what smart comments come out the other side."

"Take her? Leave her? You make Daine sound like a slave." Numair said icily. Ozorne shrugged.

"Miss Sarrasri is my guest. She's not a slave, nor even a prisoner. You're the one who's meant to be in irons, Numair. Don't forget that."

"Don't argue, Numair. It wastes time." Daine whispered, and caught at the man's hand. He looked down at her fingers, at the way they were so banded they looked like she was wearing gloves, and then nodded with a sigh. Cheated out of a fight, Ozorne left the carriage with far less grace, following Varice's steady footsteps.

"Take the boy," Numair spoke the second they were alone, "And let's run. Hide with him. It's no different from what you were doing before."

Daine laughed aloud at that, smothering the hysterical sound with one hand. "Sure! I'm sure Ozorne would happily just let me disappear into the desert with his adopted son. And I'm sure that knowing he'll feel just terrible panicked looking for Kieran doesn't make you feel all nice and vengeful. Let's do it."

Numair hesitated, and then all of the fight seemed to fade away from his eyes. He raised a hand to her cheek, trying to memorise the soft feeling of her skin. There were scales on her neck now, rising to meet her ears on both sides in odd, greenish swirls. Numair touched them lightly, and when the girl shuddered and tried to pull back he shook his head and kissed her neck, feeling the strange dryness of the smooth marks under his lips.

"You used to have freckles here." He whispered, folding her in his arms. "Now the scales are a darker colour. I don't think you'll ever be able to change what you are underneath. Not here," he kissed her throat again, "Not here," raising her hand and kissing it, "And not anywhere else." He pressed their linked hands to her heart, feeling it pound under their fingers. Daine stared at him, her eyes enormous in the dim light.

"I'll never see you again after today, will I?" She asked, and when he shook his head a wan smile crossed her lips. "I don't suppose you'll finally tell me why?"

"Not now." He thought about changing the subject, but instead he found himself saying, "I can… can I write to you?"

"Do you really think he'll let me read your letters?" Daine raised an eyebrow, and laughed at Numair's expression. "No, me neither."

"I'll write to Sarah. She was my wife, for a month or so." Numair brushed a coil of the girl's hair back from her forehead. "The people in the town will recognise her. I'm sure she can find a way to pick up a few letters every now and then."

"I'm sure," Daine found her voice was choked up, and even clearing her throat didn't help. "I'm sure she'll find a way to write back. She… oh, I can't talk like this. I'll miss you, not Sarah. I don't want to be Sarah. I don't want any of this."

The train started to slow, and they both caught hold of the sofa to balance against the changed motion. Numair refused to let go of Daine's hand for a single moment, and then the train started turning and sped up again. They both sighed and relaxed, realising it had only slowed to take the bend and they still had time. Numair's next question held a note of bitter resignation, because he knew how she would answer already.

"You still have a chance to change your mind. Come with me."

"I don't really have a choice." The girl pulled a face towards the door Ozorne had disappeared through. "He wants me enough even to forgive me for killing his men. He won't let me leave whatever I say, and you know it. But he says it's my choice because he knows that my decision will punish you. So let him believe I want to stay. I'd rather he think I was a good mother than know that I'm afraid of what he'll do to us if we run."

"Daine," Numair leaned closer, pretending he was kissing her in case someone was listening. "Don't be afraid. If you're ever in danger, I'll always come and help you."

She pressed him back and fumbled at her shirt for a second. Numair watched in confusion until he realised that she was pulling something out from the neckline – a necklace which he had never seen before, hung on a long cord. It was a dragon made of greenish stone, carved in the Chinese style.

"Here." She pushed it into his hands breathlessly. "Remember this. A Chinese family gave it to me – they live outside the town where we stayed, about a half day's walk to the North. Go and find them as soon as you leave the train. They'll help you. If I ever get a bird to carry it to them they should find you as soon as they can. They'll recognise it right away."

"Who… how…?"

"That's not important." Daine said impatiently, and gestured at the pendant. "Do you remember it?"

"Yes, but…"

"But nothing." Daine took it back and kissed him impulsively, throwing her arms around his shoulders and crushing him against her.

Numair kissed her back, pouring all of his fear of losing her and his anger at their parting into his furious embrace until the girl calmed him, stroking his hair soothingly and slowing her breaths, forcing him to breathe with her and feel the slow, steady hum of their heartbeats together. Some shared fatalistic recklessness possessed them then, made them tug at each other's clothes and press closer, and when Daine shoved heedlessly at a table to clear it they both laughed bitterly at the sound of the priceless crystal inkwells crashing to the floor.

"They'll stop us," Daine breathed, but she still found herself sinking into her lover's arms, feeling his sure hands tighten around her waist and letting him lift her onto the desk. Numair shook his head, his face flushed with more anger than passion as he kissed her.

"They said we could do what we liked." He kissed the scales on her throat then, savagely possessive, and this time Daine moved closer, sinuous in his arms, and instead of shuddering her lips parted in a moan of pleasure.

"Is this how you say goodbye?" She asked, and raised her arms when he tugged her shirt impatiently up. The man shook his head and moved over her, pushing her down against the table to kiss her throat, her breasts, her stomach, every part of her which he had learned and caressed in the too-short weeks they had shared. Daine made a strange sobbing cry and drew his face towards her own, kissing him with barely-restrained fire in her blood and nearly-shed tears in her eyes. "It feels like you're saying goodbye."

"I'm not." He caught her chin with one hand, eyes dark with desire and undisguised fury. "I'm showing him something which he can never take from me."

Daine understood with a shiver and for a split second she hated him, and herself, and the whole damned thing. Then she looked around the room: a loathsome palace bought with stolen money and blood and pain. She thought of the manipulative smirk on the face of the man who had tricked them both. That man had burned her home, and claimed her whole life because she couldn't turn away something that needed to be loved.

She looked at the pain and hunger which shone in her lover's eyes, and something flared up inside her that went so far beyond passion that she wanted to scream. But she didn't; she pulled Numair closer and guided him to her, and when he thrust inside her she cried out so loudly that even the roar of the train wouldn't drown her out.

"You're more mine than his," Numair told her harshly, and Daine choked out a laugh.

Why laugh, when she half wanted to cry? But with heat and tension coiling up inside her stomach and turning her limbs to water, any answer was too slow and her laughter soon died away into senseless noises which she hoped they would overhear. She was sure they were listening. She was sure they could hear the table striking the wall, and their harsh breaths, and the chiming crystal sconces slapping against the dividing wall when she braced her arms back against it. She thought of them listening and she refused to let Numair kiss her or muffle either of their cries, and she couldn't stop sobbing out that laugh.

Why laugh, when she wanted to scream? When the tension twisted and heated and exploded in her body and tore its way from her throat, why did it sound like pleasure? She heard the same note in her lover's voice, the furious helplessness in it which broke through any sweetness they might have made together.

Whatever petty revenge they had just committed was nothing, really, to the heart-breaking knowledge that it was the very last time, and that it felt wrong. It shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't, it shouldn't, it shouldn't, but it was, and neither of them could have changed that or stopped it even if they wanted to. The fire washed over their disgust and burned them alive. When Daine arched up from the table he cried out and caught her hips and crushed her so possessively against him that she gasped, and they burned together, and it was all so wrong, because it finally felt right.

Numair tried to kiss her then, but she dragged her face away and pressed it against the table, fogging the polished surface with her panted breaths and refusing to look at him. He kissed her neck instead and then laid his head against her shoulder, his shirt sticking against her naked flesh as he tried to get his breath back. She wouldn't let him draw any further away, not for a long time, not until all of the anger that had raced through their veins had faded into a bitterness which stopped them from even meeting each other's eyes.

There had been no love in it. No love at all, and the hatred which had burned in their blood felt sour and sordid.

"This is how I should say goodbye." Daine said, still holding him close but not meeting his eyes. "This is the most honest I'll ever be."

"Liar." He replied, and she heard the loathing in his voice and even though she knew it was for what they had done, not what he thought of her, she returned it with utter contempt. Her own anger was barely extinguished, and her fingers tightened around his arms until he cried out in pain and stared down at her.

"What did you just prove?" She demanded, "That Ozorne can't have me, or that he can't have _you?"_

He tried to pull away at that, flushing so deeply red that Daine knew she was right. Her laughter sounded hollow even to her ears, and she let him go, shoving him away so suddenly that he nearly fell.

This time, letting go was the easiest thing in the world.


	8. Predator

Varice was silent as she escorted the girl out of the carriage, and Daine was glad of that. She left Numair, shutting the door behind him before the train had even stopped. It could have been the other way around; she was glad that the decision to leave was, at least, something she could control. She didn’t look back. He didn’t say goodbye. At the last moment he reached out and tried to clutch at her hand, but he only managed to catch the edge of her fingertips.   
Daine followed Varice willingly, relieved to be taken away from that inscrutable dark glare. The woman didn’t say a word, although she made a point of studying the girl’s messed up hair and misbuttoned shirt when they finally reached the next compartment. Varice had her own carriage, it seemed, and half of it appeared to be taken up with clothes. A weary-looking French maid jumped to her feet in one corner, but Varice ignored her. She was already plucking at Daine’s clothes and tutting absently.   
“You had such nice frocks, the last time we met.” She sighed, pulling the stained cotton sleeve away from Daine’s elbow. “I don’t suppose you brought them with you when you trailed me?”   
“They’re with the horses.” The girl answered flatly. “And I’ll not be telling you where they are.”  
“I’m guessing they’re hitched near the end of the line.” Vee smiled secretly at her. “Since that’s where you boarded the train. If I dared I would ask Ozorne to take us back there before banishing Numair, but my dear patron is not in a generous mood today.”   
“Is he ever?” Daine asked, in some surprise. Vee smiled brightly.   
“You’d be surprised how lovely he can be, when he’s not had to fight off an assassination attempt.”   
“What assassination?” the girl muttered, staring at the floor. “Numair didn’t even bother loading that stupid gun.”   
“Gun?” Varice laughed at her, then caught the girl’s striped hand up in her own white-gloved grasp. “He didn’t need a gun, he had you! Why do you think he went to all the trouble of tracking you down?” She leaned closer, and her breath was warm against the girl’s ear. “Between you and me, I don’t think our dear Lord Salmalin likes to get his hands dirty. Have you ever known him to kill anyone?”   
Daine started to argue, and then her eyes widened and she shut her mouth with a snap. “I’m fair angry with him, but that doesn’t mean I’ll tell you anything. I know you’re asking Ozorne’s questions.”   
“Clever little girl.” Varice smiled with genuine pleasure and tweaked Daine’s cheek. “Keep that mind sharp, sweetheart. Sooner or later it’ll be him doing the asking.”   
“That won’t change my answers much. I like him even less than I like you.” The girl said flatly. Vee giggled.   
“But at least I don’t care when you lie to me. I like stories.”   
“I’ll tell you one that’s true.” Daine said suddenly, deciding in an instant that however much she hated what this woman had done to Numair, she didn’t loathe her sympathetic expression, nor the way she had manipulated Ozorne into bringing supplies and horses. “If you touch me, then you’ll die.”   
“I’m used to it,” The woman said smoothly, and caught up Daine’s hand in her own silky gloves. “Your little boy used to make us all so sick, until we worked out how to hold him. What to wear. What spells to cast…” she smiled at the girl’s stunned expression and continued: “What, did you think our Numair was the only one who could figure out a shielding spell?”  
“Then you can touch me?” Daine demanded. Varice pursed her lips.   
“For a short time, perhaps. You’re older and stronger than Keiran, and I usually wear gloves with him, just in case. If I lose concentration and he touches me – oh! It’s like a bee sting or a nettle. With you?” She ran her fingers along the girl’s hand curiously. “Who can tell?”   
“It’s not like Numair at all, then.” The girl sniffed. “He never needed to concentrate. He could just touch me.”  
“Yes, I know.” Vee said shortly, and for the first time there was an accusing note in her voice. Daine shrugged it off placidly, and the other woman soon recovered. “Well, let’s find you a dress.”   
In the fog of the next few weeks, Daine wondered if Numair would write. It seemed more unlikely with every passing day. His sardonic prediction had turned out to be exactly right: she had found out the truth, and she hadn’t liked it one bit.   
“Still,” she remembered telling him in a voice that was deliberately hurtful, “You must be glad I’m so upset, because I guess it means you were right and I did love you, after all. Past tense, Numair. Did.”   
“It’s because you don’t understand.” He had told her, pulling his jeans back on with hands that were shaking, fingers numbed with stress. “Daine…”   
“You had plenty of time to tell me before now, but you didn’t bother.” She folded her arms, indifferent to his frantic attempts to explain and unabashed at her own nakedness. “Now it’s far too late. Were you hoping this secret would die when you shot him, so you’d never have to tell me the truth?”   
He opened his mouth, shut it again, and picked up her shirt from the floor. He held it out to her for an intolerably long time until he realised that she was never going to take it from him, and then he growled in frustration and threw it at her instead. She raised an eyebrow.  
“What’s the rush?”  
“Get dressed, Daine.” He said through gritted teeth.   
“If you’re plannin’ to say this whole mess didn’t happen you’ll have a long lying story to tell, what with all those noises we were making.” She drawled. “Of course, you might be good at that. Seems like you have a lot of practice lyin’ about who you sleep with.”   
“Or perhaps I knew that telling you I’d slept with your mother’s murderer was a bad idea?” He demanded, planting his hands on his hips. Daine shrugged, and even though her face turned pale she kept the same mocking tone in her voice.   
“Did you tell him you loved him, too?”   
“No.” There was no lie in that answer, and Daine flinched. Numair scowled at her. “Neither of us were interested in love, if you must know. It was all about power.”   
“Power.” She turned her face away, scoffing over the idea. He moved forward at that, quick and dangerous, and caught her chin in one commanding hand. The girl tried to pull away but his fingers tightened and he turned her head, forcing her to meet his furious dark eyes. Daine tried to hide a shiver. She wasn’t quick enough; he felt the movement and his eyes narrowed. For a split second his warm hand pressed on her spine, moving her closer and closer until her heart raced under his palm.   
Then, as swiftly as he’d started, he let her go.  
“That kind of power.” He said icily, and turned away. “Get dressed.”   
Daine pulled on her shirt with shaking fingers, not arguing this time. Numair didn’t look back at her until she was decent, and an indifferent mask had settled over his features by then. He looked her up and down, and it was obvious that he’d planned his next words carefully.   
“I will be back, Daine. This isn’t over.”   
She was furious but she still wished he would write. Without any word from him, how could she work out the truth? She could hardly ask Ozorne or Varice. The secret had been half-told, and it was worse than knowing nothing. It gnawed away at her constantly.  
In the first few nights she had tried to sneak through it under cover of darkness. The first few times she had tried desks and drawers, finding them mostly locked or full of nonsense. The third night she had barely started to move down the carriage when she saw that the door to one of the estate rooms was unlocked and slightly ajar. Heart racing, she ducked through the doorway.   
She had almost reached the first desk when she heard a soft noise, and spun around in sudden fear to see movement at the sofa in the middle of the room. Slow, sinuous movement, and that soft sigh, and she knew exactly what she was seeing even before Varice’s bright eyes saw her over the man’s shoulder, and her carmine lips parted in a smile. The woman held out a hand, sighing in pleasure when the man rolled his hips into her.   
“Daine,” she purred, still holding out her hand, still swaying with the man’s insistent thrusts. The girl froze, unable to stop staring, pressing a clenched fist against her stomach as mingled shock and longing coiled inside her. Varice saw her flush, and her smile turned a little mocking. “Are you here to join us, beauty?”  
“N…no…!” Daine breathed, and backed away so hastily something fell to the floor. “I’m so sorry!”   
“Mm, don’t be. He likes an audience.” The woman’s heavy eyelid fell down in a lascivious wink, and her hands moved suddenly over the man’s back, nails digging in to the skin. He made an odd groaning noise, and Daine recognised that voice with a sudden surge of sick hatred. Choking back her disgust, she fled.   
Lingering revulsion stopped her exploring from that night onwards, but not for reasons she would admit. She had always known that Ozorne and Varice were lovers. Although seeing them together had made her blood burn, the disgust she felt was mainly aimed at herself. It was disgust for the wave of desire she had felt, the longing that had made her flee back to her own bed and crush herself against a pillow, almost sobbing with the frustration of holding cloth rather than skin, of having nothing to touch but mindless objects.   
Varice had looked just like that in Numair’s arms, she knew. That breath-taking, submissive beauty had sighed and moaned against his body in the same way that Daine had. They had both felt the same stirrings for the same man, and Daine hadn’t understood how fiercely she missed those passions until now. She missed Numair as a person; she missed being touched. They were two such different things. Where one made her long to just glimpse her friend one last time, the other made her furious at him.   
It was normal that she couldn’t be touched. It wasn’t fair that he had woken up these feelings in her and then urged her to follow Varice. Varice, who could be touched. Varice, who he had touched. They hadn’t needed a shield. The woman could surrender herself with such mindless pleasure that even Daine’s blood had heated.   
Daine wasn’t resentful of that. She envied it. It was the same utter abandon that she could never dream of: passionate and thoughtless and intractable… and Daine wanted it for herself. And with her envy, slow desire coiled around her loathing of the woman, and by breakfast the next morning her sleepless night had left her so frustrated and confused that she couldn’t eat a bite.   
Varice looked across the table at her, delicately taking a small bite of toast, and she didn’t say a word. But her tongue swept across her full lower lip, and when Daine couldn’t look away, her mouth slowly curved into a smile.   
"Eat, Miss Sarrasri." Ozorne ordered, not looking up from his newspaper. "You're setting a terrible example for our son."   
There were so many things wrong with that sentence that Daine barely knew where to start. Before she could even choke out her dislike of the word 'our' one of the silent servants had slid a plate of kippers in front of her, and another was patiently holding her a clean silver fish knife. Daine took it, stared at her plate for a moment, and then severed the fish from their heads in one petulant cut.   
'Setting an example' had become the rule book of her life. Oh, she wasn't a servant or a prisoner, and Ozorne would probably have been genuinely offended by the idea. But instead of bars and guards she was watched by Ozorne and his army of servants, all determined to make her into the perfect mother for a child whose name she barely knew. There were a thousand ways she could fail, from speaking too loudly to wearing the wrong colour shoes on a Sunday... but as long as she did exactly what she was told, she could do whatever she liked.   
Oh, and she couldn't leave the train. First because it was moving, then because she would 'get lost'. Two Millay men were sweet enough to make sure she couldn't get lost at all times, even when the train was moving.   
She didn't need to leave the train. Varice saw to that. At every stop she waited impatiently for the wire to be connected, and then telegraphed to the nearest town. Crates arrived in tens and twenties bearing wine, rich food, candles, parisian perfumes and oriental herbs. Men and women arrived in a neverending line with shoe leather outlines and coarse linen stencils. Daine was poked and prodded and measured and tutted over until she wanted to scream.  
Then, just when she wanted to tear her own hair out, the next lot of parcels arrived and her breath caught in her throat. Leather had become suede, tooled into boots that were so soft they felt like fabric around her blistered heels. The stencils had grown chiffron wings and silken tails, transforming into peacocks of shining colour which whispered against her skin. The dresses were as soft as the boots, and as wondrous: they covered every inch of her skin, but in fabric so sheer and light that the desert heat felt shaded away. She could see the outline of her wrists beneath the sleeves, but not the dark patterns on them. Long white gloves flattered her calloused hands, and with her hair brushed patiently into a soft cloud by Varice's maid, she could have passed for a true lady.   
"But your voice is all wrong," Kieran was unimpressed. "Mama, you talk like the stoker."   
"His name is Jay." Daine corrected him, for she had befriended the train crew already. Varice shook her head in infuriatingly patronising patience.   
"No, Daine. He's just a stoker."   
"Does that mean that you're just a wh..." Daine remembered her son was there just in time and bit the inside of her cheek, stopping the fierce retort. Varice smiled serenely at her.   
"Well, I believe you have just proven Kieran's point."  
The boy beamed. He understood none of the spiteful comments the women made, but he lapped up their praise. Daine scowled at him and quickly looked away before her anger upset him.   
Because if it had...   
... being a mother still terrified her, but it didn't even come close to the pale, cold heat that burned in her veins whenever she was near to Ozorne. It wasn't her memory of his golden waistcoat, or fear of the Millay men who he commanded. Those seemed far away, as if their threat had left with Numair. She wasn't afraid of his wealth or his temper. But when she dared to raise her eyes and they met his own, she could barely breathe. In his eyes she saw true danger: the mask of a lion stalking its prey. If he had been an animal she would have pitied its prey. The eyes of the hunter were watching for the weak, not to kill it but to tear it violently to shreds. She recognised that animal bloodlust in his sharp eyes in an instant, and felt like she might choke on their polite conversation.   
Numair had told her, in his obnoxiously secretive way. Ozorne was not interested in love. He was interested in power. That kind of power. And as the days went by, Daine saw the way his eyes fell on her son, caressing the boy's marked skin before moving to her own. She wanted to believe he loved the child. It would mean they would both be safe.  
She longed to believe that.  
Every night the nightmares woke her screaming, and every morning the feral eyes burned into her own like searing coals.


	9. Chapter 9

They hadn't even tethered the horses. Daine, with a stern look at Cloud, had insisted that they would be perfectly safe on their own, without needing the grudging and expensive care of a hostler. The most unsettling thing about that decision, Numair thought at the time, was that the horses were both anxiously watching the roads when they left to see when their human owners would return.

No. No, that was a lie. They wouldn't wait for humans any more than they considered themselves to be property. They were waiting for Daine. And Daine was exactly the person who would not be coming back.

The horses spied Numair walking towards them and they saw that he was alone.

They charged – that was the right word. Their ears lay back against their skulls and their manes stood on end, and the thunder of their hooves dragged the lanky human from his weary, trudging darkness. His face changed. They saw that he was angry and their anxiety turned into pure panic.

Numair was on his back before he even realised he was falling, shoved by the frantic pony whose sweet breath puffed harshly into his hair. Cloud met his furious gaze with her own liquid eyes, and the human understood.

"She's alive." he growled, and shoved Cloud's nose away.

The pony sighed in clear relief and then looked towards tbe horizon expectantly. She shivered noticably when Numair laughed. So did Emmie. The sound was scathing. Then it changed. Raw laughter turned into hysterical gasps, and the human who still lay flat on his back in the dirt covered his face with his hands and sobbed.

-Well, then.- Cloud tactfully stepped a little further away. -She's finished with him.-

-Ask him what happened.- Emmie pleaded instantly. Cloud snorted through her nose, raising a flurry of dust.

\- He's your master. -

\- Daine said we don't have masters. - The horse was quick to retort, and her ears lay flat nervously. - Besides, I know what he's like when he's dangerous. -

-You? I was at the canyon too! -

-That wasn't dangerous. That was just... he was showing off. - Emmie looked nervously at the man, who had stopped his noise and was now slowly climbing to his feet. His hands were clenched into fists; where tears had dried in the dust they had made a coppery mud which now stained his fingertips and marked his face where he'd scrubbed at it. Beneath the mud his face was absolutely calm, utterly pleasant, and unspeakably wrong. Emmie gulped.

\- That...looks dangerous. -

"She's with her son." Numair said to Cloud in a light, conversational tone. When she made a surprised whickering sound he smiled and nodded. "Ah, so you did know. You knew all along, I'm sure." He patted her neck absently. "You couldn't have told me even if you wanted to. I imagine you wouldn't have even if you could, but..." he bit his words back withan obvious effort and then that eerie smile returned. Without another word, he turned to Emmie and dug a waterskin from her pack, draining it like a man dying of thirst.

\- Daine has a foal? - Emmie blinked dully at her companion. Cloud shook her head, mane flying.

\- No. The human ones are called babies and they scream a lot more, and they're useless at walking and they can't talk or even mind-speak, and she said we weren't to think on it or speak of it any more 'cos it wasn't really her's to start off with. -

\- Then whose was it? - Emmie took the sentence rather too literally, and felt rather stupid when Cloud rolled her eyes.

\- Oh, it was her own. But she hated the man who gave it to her. Those screamin' dreams she had on the trail were sometimes about him. The baby made it much worse, even after she gave it away. -

\- Oh. But the dreams stopped when my human was with her, so won't she need him more now?-

Cloud hesitated. Emmie was usually quite slow at understanding human relationships, especially one as bizarre as Daine and Numair's had time, though, the horse's curious enquiry held a genuine insight, and the pony had no idea how to answer. Despite her strong exterior she felt lost and abandoned, and utterly bewildered by Daine's sudden disappearance.

\- We should find her. - she said.

"I need your help." Numair said, unaware of the interruption. For a split second Cloud wondered if he had been listening in after all. He carried on: "There's a family Da... she met with, isn't there? A chinese family?"

Emmie looked at Cloud, who deigned to nod. The man gripped her halter. His voice took on a note of command, and his black eyes sharpened dangerously.

"Fine, then we're leaving this rotten place right now. Take me to them."

Cloud nipped at him, and Numair swore loudly when her long teeth drew blood. As soon as he released her halter the mare reared up, and he cried out and hurled himself back and away. He lost his footing immediately, and found himself once again lying on his backside in the dirt. Cloud whinnied at him furiously and snapped her teeth. The fear in his eyes eclipsed his previous anger, and he stared up at her in shock.

\- Cloud! - Emmie gasped, horrified. The stocky animal glared at her.

\- I won't stand it. Not from him. Not from a human that abandons his mate like a... a skunk. - Cloud snapped, and stomped her foot loudly into the dust beside the man's head. She lowered her own head down to glare at him, not caring that the idiotic human could not understand her. - You won't even tell us what happened to her, and you think we'll just abandon her too? -

"Back off, I told you she's alive. She's fine. She's wonderful. Drinking fine wine and sleeping in satin sheets and not thinking about us at all, I'm sure." Numair held up his hand and the glitter of a magic shield shone in the air. "I'll not fight with a damned pony."

Emmie narrowed her eyes at Cloud, and her intelligent face set. Turning around, Cloud kicked out neatly with both hind legs. She struck the shield, not the man, but since he was holding up his hands to support it the shock of impact sent him sprawling a third time.

\- He doesn't learn, does he? -

\- Shut up, Cloud. - Emmie was quite fierce. - We can't keep doing this to my poor human. It's cruel. You know humans don't understand what you say to them. -

\- Then what do we do? -

\- Just... wait for him to tell us what happened. - Emmie pleaded, and Cloud sighed.

It took another few knocks and a good deal of time, but Numair eventually seemed to realise that he wouldn't be able to simply command the beasts any more. He sat cross-legged in the disturbed dust and, in a hesitating way, explained most of what had happened.

He left out the exact details of how he and Daine had parted, because he had felt such sickening shame about that even as he left the train that the thought of putting it into words made his throat constrict. The animals seemed suspicious at his enflamed cheeks, but seemed content enough with the story to begin to move, at least. The crucial detail - that Daine had asked them to find Zhao herself - was obviously the point where they made up their minds. Seeing this, the man drew himself up a little angrily and started walking ahead.

"You'd think she was a goddess, the way you two adore her," He said snidely.

Both horses made annoyed whickering sounds, and their hooves fell a little more sharply against the dry ground. Numair bit his tongue and walked as far ahead as he dared.


End file.
